


The Undone and the Divine (Such Selfish Prayers)

by Ceris_Malfoy



Series: Kinky Steter [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal, BDSM, Barebacking, Bondage, Come Eating, Come Inflation, Daddy!Kink, Dom!Peter, Double Anal Penetration, Edge Play, Emotional Manipulation, Knotting, M/M, Milking, Possible Dubious Consent, Prostate Stimulation, Sounding, Throat Fucking, Toys, Underage Sex, creeper!peter, mentions/fantasies of:, sub!Stiles, underage mating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:31:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceris_Malfoy/pseuds/Ceris_Malfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Peter’s taken his time with Stiles, coaxed him gently into trust, into lust, into something that is so much more like dependence than love, and it works for them, but it took time, so much time. Time to tame the boy, time to teach him how to please Peter, how to want to please Peter. Almost too much, but it’s worth it now, to finally reap the reward of his meticulous labors."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Undone and the Divine (Such Selfish Prayers)

**Author's Note:**

> Porn, okay? Straight up porn, for no reason other than I wanted kinky PeterStiles porn. Don’t come here looking for any kind of feels, though one or two may wiggle their way in.

_"This is as good a place to fall as any  
We'll build our alter here_

_...  
_

_Sweating our confessions  
The undone and the divine_

_and  
_

_This is his body  
_

_This is his love  
_

_Such selfish prayers  
_

_I can't get enough"  
_

_~"Bedroom Hynms" by Florence and the Machine  
_

* * *

Peter waits, patiently, lurking in the shadows of the room, so still, so quiet. He watches the boy on his bed, writhing against the silk sheets, panting and sweating and moaning, bound and helpless. Peter’s taken his time with Stiles, coaxed him gently into trust, into lust, into something that is so much more like dependence than love, and it _works_ for them, but it took time, so much time. Time to tame the boy, time to teach him how to please Peter, how to _want_ to please Peter. Almost too much, but it’s worth it now, to finally reap the reward of his meticulous labors.

He just needs to wait a little longer. Just a few moments. His boy will break soon, will sob with his need to come, will beg and plead with Peter to please, _please_ touch him, fuck him, **anything** , _please_. His thumb hovers over the remote in his hands, debating whether or not to crank the speed up, torture his poor, eager boy further. He eyes Stiles’ erection, leaking copious amounts of precome despite both the cockring and the sound nestled firmly in his slit. He breathes in the scent of desperation and want, so achingly thick and cloying. He practically _tastes_ the thunder of Stiles’ pulse, wild and rapid, skin flushed and overheated. He hears the boys whimpers and moans and just beneath, the soft, barely-audible buzz of the prostate stimulator he’d bought expressly for this very purpose.

Peter smiles, and deliberately raises the vibrations from ‘mild’ to ‘fastest’. The reaction is instantaneous: Stiles’ entire body arches off the bed, body tensing, delectable mouth open in a silent scream. Peter regrets blindfolding the boy when the scent of tears hits his nose. He _likes_ seeing Stiles’ big amber eyes wet with tears, desperate with want and need and _fuck_.

He breathes in shakily, pressing his unoccupied hand against the front of his jeans, fighting the urge to just pull out his cock and stroke himself off right here and now. He promised his boy the time of his life, and he’s not going to go back on that now. And it won’t be long; Stiles isn’t going to last much longer. He’s been riding the edge of too-much-not- _enough_ for almost a half-hour now.

"Daddy, please, turn it off, turn it _off_ , let me come, daddy, daddy please, Stiles finally begs, voice wrecked, hands fisting uselessly against the ropes he’s bound with. “Be your good boy, I will, I _will_ , please, please, let me come.”

And, oh, doesn’t his boy beg so prettily? Peter smiles, thumbs down the vibrations a bit in reward. “Tell me,” he orders. “What would you do to come?”

Stiles sobs, whining low in his throat. “ _Anything_ , daddy. Everything you want. Please, _please_.”

"Anything?" Peter asks. "You would do _anything_?” He cranks the speed back up for a brief moment, dick twitching against his jeans as Stiles practically howls, body arching even more violently than before. He dials the speed back down, licking his lips as Stiles collapses in a trembling heap on the bed, caught and enraptured with the sight/sound/smell of his boy.

Stiles sobs, crying, tears absorbed into the black velvet of his blindfold. His mouth quivers, tongue flicking out to moisten dry lips. It takes the sixteen-year-old a long moment to regain the strength to speak, but when he does - “ _Yesyesyes_ , always, _anything_ , _**everything**_ , please, daddy” - it is so _good_.

"I want to fuck you open, Stiles," Peter says, growls really, wolf front and center, no longer lingering at the edge of the room, but prowling around the bed, eying his boy from every possible angle. "I want to fuck you," he says as he runs a hand down the boy’s trustingly bared throat, over the prominent collarbones, fingers trailing against fever-hot skin, ghosting teasingly over a peaked nipple. "I want to knot you, over and over again until you grow round with my seed, over-full and leaking despite my knot."

Peter tweaks the nipple he’s playing with hard, watching as Stiles’ mouth drops open again invitingly as he whines. He wants to feed Stiles his cock, watch as the boy swallows every last inch Peter gives him, watch as he cries even as he works his throat around Peter, milking him desperately like he’s starved for the taste of Peter’s come. And he will, later. After.

"I want to watch you come again and again stretched wide on my dick until you physically _can’t_ anymore, but I’ll still be fucking you, Stiles, riding you hard, claiming every inch of you as mine. And when I finally finish with your ass, I’ll plug you up, keep my come in you. You’ll suck me down right after, won’t you? Clean my dick and get it good and hard again, swallow me down, inch by inch, gagging on it, hungry for the taste of me.”

Stiles is panting again, flush deepening. With every filthy word that leaves Peter’s lips, the boy’s pretty cock twitches, another fat glob of precome sliding past the jeweled head of his sound. But he remains silent, listening, thinking. Peter doesn’t mind. Even now, at the end of his tether, Stiles isn’t stupid, isn’t unaware of what’s happening to him. He may not hold _much_ power, but he holds _enough_ : all he has to do is say one little word, and all this _stops_. Stiles knows that once they do this, once Peter knots him, there is no going back, no take-backs or re-dos, no walking away.

Peter could take him anyway, he _could_ , no one could stop him. But Peter knows better than to ruin all his hard work like that. Taking what he wants - what he _needs -_ from Stiles without Stiles’ consent will only backfire on him; for as deeply dependent as he’s made Stiles, the boy is nevertheless still dangerous, still far too clever by half. If Peter takes what isn’t given, Stiles will see him dead again, one way or another. No, it is much better to do it this way, slow and agonizing, and excruciatingly _good_ , claiming the boy one slow step at a time until this, the grand culmination of their twisted relationship.

Peter will finally own his boy, completely and irrevocably, and _nothing_ will be able to separate them. Not hunters, not his nephew or even the boy’s father. There will be nowhere they could take his boy that Peter wouldn’t be able to follow. And he has no illusions: he’s done his work well, very well indeed. Stiles won’t refuse him. Maybe once, but no longer. Stiles needs him, needs this. His pretty boy, his chosen mate. All _his_.

"Well, boy?" he asks, starting to strip. He is hungry, aching, patience stretched thin, control wavering against the need to claim, to own. He’s been patient long enough. "Do you want it?"

"Yes," Stiles says, voice so quiet Peter almost misses it. "Yes, daddy, please," he repeats, voice louder.

Peter climbs on the bed and settles between his boy’s spread legs, grabbing the lube from the corner where he’d thoughtfully left it after working the toy into Stiles’ ass. He slicks his cock and eyes his boy thoughtfully, contemplating stretching the boy so that he’s forced to take both his length _and_ the prostate stimulator. But, no. Not tonight. He hooks a finger into the ring of the toy, and he slowly works it out, taking in the way that tight ring of muscle stretches around the gleaming black plastic, slick with lube still despite how long it’s been inside. Stiles gives off a delicious chorus of noises - _yesyesdaddypleaseplease_ \- when Peter finally gets to put the head of his cock against Stiles ass and push.

That tight ring of muscle gives way, eagerly opening for his slicked length, taking him easily. He flashes to the greedy way Stiles swallows him down as he’s sucking him off, and he groans. He should have known the boy’s other hole would be just as greedy, just as hungry. The toy had been slightly smaller than Peter’s cock, and he consequently is surrounded by tight, wet heat, the muscles within spasming around his length.

Oh, he is going to _enjoy_ this.

He pauses only long enough to get a firm grip on Stiles’ hips, pulls out until just the head of his dick is left in the boy’s clenching heat, and then he lets go of any claim to control he’s had, snapping his hips forward and back, over and over, relentless and unforgiving. His thrusts are long, deep, hard, and swift, every single one belying his human appearance: too much speed, too much strength, too much, too much. And his boy is simply forced to _take it_ , unable to do anything other than scream and beg and cry some more.

"Look at you," he pants, greedily watching Stiles as he fucking _writhes_. “You’ve been aching for this, haven’t you? How long, Stiles? How long have you wanted my cock, my knot?”

Peter shifts positions, leaning forward, hips working fast and fierce, licking at his boys neck, sucking deep bruises all down that pale expanse of skin, tonguing the hard beat of Stiles’ pulse and biting. He releases his hold on the boys hips, braces himself with one hand and uses the other to reach between them, playing with the release on the cockring. “Tell me, baby boy,” he grinds out, “Tell me, how long have you wanted my cock?.”

Stiles says nothing, apparently completely incapable of speech.

That won’t do. Peter stills his mad thrusting to a torturous grind. “Tell me, Stiles.”

"You h-held my wrist i-in your h-hand, and I w-wanted," Stiles pants out, voice breaking several times as he tried to work his hips against Peter. "Wanted you t-to b-bend me over your n-nurse’s car and f- _fuck_ me."

Peter’s breath catches in his throat, and for a moment, all he can see and hear is white hot static. He doesn’t even realize that he’s broken the cockring off until Stiles comes, hard enough that the sound Peter had worked into him nearly an hour before is forced out of his slit, come splattering against the boy’s heaving chest all the way up to his chin. His ass clamps down hard on Peter, and it’s too much, much too much, Peter’s been on the edge of wanting since he’d first decided tonight was the night. Something resembling a whine escapes his throat, and he can’t help himself, he nuzzles against the boy’s neck, and _bites_. He is so deep inside his boy, grinding his hips as if he could work himself deeper, breathing hard as his knot expands, tasting blood but clamping his sharp teeth harder, deeper.

Stiles feels so good, too good, around him. All tight heat and rippling muscles, and his pretty boy is working his hips harder, still hard despite his rather intense orgasm, riding Peter’s knot as best as he can, considering. And Peter is coming, filling his boy, his _mate_.

He unlatches his teeth and licks at the wound, grinning at the sight of it already starting to heal. The bond won’t start to take for another twelve hours or so, but that’s alright. That’s just _fine_. Peter will keep his boy well-fucked and _full_ until it does.They have a long, long night ahead of them

Peter can’t wait.


End file.
